no matter if i fall from the sky
by tombombadillo
Summary: And like Castle, who rarely talks about the fact he was, or still is, essentially fatherless, she'd grown to imagine him as someone worthwhile, someone with the same kind blue eyes, and the crowfeet, and the same limitless imagination, and compassion. But she never imagined this.


**Some of this I'm happy with, some I'm not, but all in all, I like the way it turned out. This is based on this picture (24 media tumblr com/tumblr_luxz9gF6KU1r6jgczo1_500 jpg) and a conversation I had with the lovely Vallie. No spoilers, really.**

**Disclaimer: no. just no.**

* * *

Kate's imagined what and who Castle's father could be before. Always wondered who the other half of the man that she irrevocably loves could be. And like Castle, who rarely talks about the fact he was, or still is, essentially fatherless, she'd grown to imagine him as someone worthwhile, someone with the same kind blue eyes, and the crowfeet, and the same limitless imagination, and compassion. But she never imagined this. The man opposite her at the interrogation table is cold and ruthless. His eyes, still blue, but they're icy. Far from welcoming. His demeanour is one that makes her want to find the nearest trash can and throw up in it. But she can't, because he's a suspect and she has to do her job.

She doesn't blame Castle for not wanting to be in on this. She'd never be able to look at her father from the other side of the table, and for Castle, who's known this man as his father for all of half an hour, she can't even think of what's going through his mind. He's told her, in the early morning when he's tired and the filter between his brain and his mouth is working even less than usual that he always liked the idea of his father being an astronaut, or an inventor of squirty cream, something cool and excited that he could brag about to the kids at school. Kate doesn't want him to witness this. A former soldier, possibly gone rogue, tough and unforgiving. Really, she's glad that Castle grew up with Martha and had no influence from this man. How much of the Richard Castle that she loved would have been stamped out by him? Would Castle have rebelled, or would he have stayed Richard Alexander Rodgers, followed his father's footsteps into the army, become an accountant or a teacher?

As it turns out, Michael Lloyd is only guilty of being a jackass. Ryan clears his alibi in a matter of minutes (not that he wants to, he wants to punch the idiot in the face) and Kate is forced to let him go. She's relieved because at least Castle doesn't have to live with the fact his father is a murderer, but she wishes he was anybody but this man. He's halfway out of the door, not even looking back, when Kate raises her voice to speak to him.

"Mr. Lloyd?" He turns around with a gruff _what_, his stare intimidating. But Kate can do intimidating as well as the next army major, and she takes it as a (slightly smug) victory when she sees his eyes flicker. "I know you don't think it's any of my business, but you have a son in there. I don't know whether you knew he was your son and you didn't do anything about it, or whether you just found out today, but he at least deserves for you to notice him now."

Michael Lloyd takes a step towards her, that icy coldness now so clearly evident in his eyes. "I don't have a son. I have never had a son."

Kate stands up, the height of her heels giving her the slightest height advantage. "He can hear you."

"Can he? Good." He turns on his heel towards the mirror, and Kate finds herself with the urge to clobber him with the butt of her gun. "I don't want you. I have never wanted you. You were a mistake, and so was your mother." He turns back to Kate, and he has the cheek to even _smile_ at her, the despicable, horrible, vile human being that he is. "Good day."

It's only until Ryan comes skidding down the corridor and into the room does Kate finally realise that he's gone. And apparently, so has Castle.

* * *

It's not until she steps back into the city that she realises she's left homicide without even grabbing a coat or an umbrella. Jeez, Castle has done the same and she's out here looking for him and they're both going to get absolutely drenched in this torrential downpour. She pushes her hair away from her face, water dripping down onto her nose. He can't have gone far. He'd have had a hard time finding a taxi in this weather, and he wouldn't have run off. He'll be around. She spins in a circle and then catches him as he ducks into an alleyway half way up the street. She runs after him, nearly gets hit by a taxi for her troubles. Her jeans are soaking by the time she reaches the alleyway and she's cold and shivering but she can see Castle slouched against a brick wall by some dumpsters. He raises his eyes towards her, tries for a smile, but it ends up like a grimace. She stands in front of him, tangles her fingers with his until she can tug him away from the wall. He comes willingly, always has done when it's her. "You can't stay out here, Castle. You'll get ill." He shrugs; a lazy rise and drop of his shoulder that says more than his words ever could. "He's gone. Come back to the precinct, I'll take you back to the Loft, get you some clean clothes."

He follows without a word, stumbling along like his legs aren't quite working in co-ordination with the messages that his brain is sending them. It takes them fifteen minutes to get back to the precinct and if Kate thought they couldn't actually get any wetter then she was sadly mistaken. She feels like she's just been thrown head first into a swimming pool, and it's only the threatening glare at the officer on the front desk from spilling his guts laughing at them. She pulls him into the elevator, one hand still in his, balances on one leg so she can press the button for the fourth floor without moving away from him. She's not sure whether it's her hand that's cold or whether it's his, but she wants warmth and coffee.

The elevator doors open on homicide, the first thing she sees are Ryan and Esposito talking to Gates, their faces sombre. Gates nods in their direction, and Kate pulls Castle out of the elevator. Part of her warns her that she's still holding his hand and that's probably too much of a give away, but she's pretty sure that if she let go of him Castle would either stop in his tracks or fall over. Or maybe both. The captain's eyes flick downwards to their hands, and then back up to Kate, but she stares her down willingly. She can bear the consequences (maybe) to the fallout, but she can't deal with that now.

"Detective Beckett, take Mr. Castle… home." She says with a pointed expression. "And I don't want either of you back until you're both fit for work." She looks at Castle, her eyes unusually soft and pitying.

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

It's hard to even get him in the car. She opens the door but he just stands there, staring at nothing, his eyes dull and unfocused. Kate shakes his arm. "Castle! Castle! Castle, you're starting to scare me. You need to get in the car. Castle!" she stands in front of him, right in front of him, toe to toe, trying to do anything to even get his attention.

He jerks, eyes turning towards her. "Kate?"

"You need to get in the car."

"Where are we going?"

"The Loft. You need a change of clothes. You're soaking wet."

He looked down at himself, only now seemingly noticing the rain. "Oh." She jerked her head towards the open car door, and he slides in, only just missing hitting his head on the frame.

She closes the door behind him, takes a deep breath to steady herself. This isn't how she wanted it to go. She didn't want Castle to be struck almost dumb by this, to be so distraught at finding out the missing half of his past. She's so _angry_. She wants to go and find Michael Lloyd and tell him just what he's missing out on, tell him about all the amazing things his son has done, and the fantastic qualities that he has.

* * *

Castle stands in the middle of the Loft, floor dripping with rain water and looking at a complete loss. Kate tugs on his jacket until it falls to the floor, leaves it there so she can pull his shirt out of his trousers and then pulls at the buttons. She's usually skilled at this, months of practice and she could do this blindfolded if you asked her to, but it's hard to do when her fingers are numb and bitterly cold. However the shirt soon joins the jacket on the floor. Kate picks up his abandoned clothes and she tugs on his belt loops and he follows her towards his laundry room. At least the car ride has done something, and she no longer has to lead him everywhere. He's somewhat back in his own mind, at any rate. And he has the sense to take off his trousers and shoves them into the machine, standing there in his boxers while she strips off her own clothing and chucks it in after his. Kate sets it going, wraps her arms around herself for warmth as she makes for outside again. He follows her out, like a lost puppy, trails in her wake into his bedroom. She throws him a clean shirt and a clean pair of boxers, fishes out a shirt for herself. Kate manages to get it in her arms and over her back, but she doesn't have a chance to button it up.

"Why didn't he want me?" he asks her, finally.

"I don't know, Castle. I really – I don't know. But it's his loss. And frankly, I'm glad for it."

"Why?" he questions, so quiet and timid and so _not Castle_.

"Because he would have stomped out everything that makes you, _you_. Your imagination, your passion, your immaturity. Without those, who knows who you would have become? You would have grown up being an army kid, bred to follow in his footsteps instead of being bought up by a flighty – if still absolutely wonderful and charming – mother and becoming a best-selling author." She tugged his boxers down his hips until he got the message and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull them off properly, replacing him with the clean and fresh pair.

"But… even now. I didn't do anything to him. He didn't even know about me." He pushes his arms through the shirt sleeves, buttons it up slowly and carefully as he speaks.

"Castle, you don't need him. Forty years, and you have grown up into an amazing person. You have a beautiful daughter, a wonderful mother –"

"- a hot as hell, kick ass detective as a girlfriend." He finishes, that infamous smirk appearing, if only for a brief second.

"Exactly. You've got this life, and you've built it yourself. You worked hard for it. And if Michael Lloyd doesn't give a shit about your life, then don't give a shit about his."

"But… he's my…"

"He's not your father, Castle. He doesn't deserve to have that title. He is a person. A person that we brought in for questioning on a murder charge. And he had an alibi, so we released him. He's gone. Just like that. You don't need him. You have everything you need, right here." She stands in the vee of his legs, reaches down to wipe a thumb across his cheekbone. He hasn't cried yet, and maybe he'll let himself break down when she's not here, or maybe he'll work out his frustration in writing. She's worked out that's the way he works. It's not necessarily Nikki Heat, just a random chapter from a plot that he's plucked out of thin air. If someone's pissed him off, he'll shoot them, or throw them off a skyscraper, or have them hung. It's not the healthiest forms of anger management she's seen, but it works for him. And if she's at work and he's at home, he'll write some overly lewd, extremely graphic representation of what they did last night and he'll ring her up and read it to her. He did that once, and she threatened to never ever repeat the actions that he so sordidly whispered in her ear. He chooses to wait until she's in her bed – or his bed, if he's lucky – and he'll read it over the phone. And _that's_ fun. But she's really not sure how he'd work this out.

Castle reaches up and tugs on her hand and she takes the hint, shifting her legs so she can sit on the top of his thighs, arms loose around his shoulders. His arms are already tight around her waist, squeezing, almost too much pressure, but she'll give him that, today, anyway.


End file.
